


Light the Sky on Fire

by cognomen, MayGlenn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Holiday Special (TV)
Genre: 30 minutes of untranslated wookiee not included, A fictionalized version of Jefferson Starship, Batteries Not Included, Complete, Crack Relationships, Fluff and Crack, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jefferson Starship treated as the name of the lead singer of Jefferson Starship, M/M, One Shot, Sorry Not Sorry, Unnamed Imperial officers who discover something about themselves that day, phallic pink glowing microphone, the real treasure is the phallic pink microphone we sang into along the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21928456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/pseuds/cognomen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: When Big Helmet sees a virtual performance by Jefferson Starship, he knows he's in love.  When he gets to Tatooine after escaping the empire, he finds out they're actually in trouble and only he can rescue the man he loves and his bandmates... but Jefferson Starship might not even know who he is! Can he rescue his hero, and finally admit his love? Did Chaq actually just take a bunch of spice and hallucinate the whole thing? It's a galactic love story of epic proportions... or at least ten pages.*((*Depending on your font size.))
Relationships: Jefferson Starship/Imperial Officer
Kudos: 2





	Light the Sky on Fire

Ever since he’d seen the holo that old fool on Kashyyyk had insisted on showing him, the Imperial Officer known for his big...helmet… knew that Jefferson Starship was the one. The way he strutted around on stage, the voice crooning seductively into the glowing, phallic, pink microphone while the rest of his half naked band strutted around on stage making love to the music. Of course, it was thoroughly forbidden by the Empire to enjoy such vids, but it had awakened something in Big Helmet that he’d suppressed under years of flavorless food and bland, officially sanctioned music.

So he hadn’t reported it, just in case his own rapid pulse even mentioning the name gave him away. After all, for whatever reason, the Empire hadn’t seen fit to bestow his big helmet with a visor, and he’d always had a face that gave things away. Like the fact that he’d really enjoy lighting the sky on fire with Jefferson Starship. 

Thus sexually awakened by the power of interstellar rock music, Big Helmet planned his escape. He doesn’t know what he’ll say to Jefferson when he meets him, but he’s sure that there will be some connection, that the spark he felt even through the holo viewer was real. Sure, that asshole Brendol Hux yelled at him to get back to work right after, but he couldn’t order Helmet to stop thinking about it.

And he has been, biding his time, for weeks. He has no way of knowing if his secret coded messages professing his love have made it through to Jefferson, but he’s sure that somehow, someway, they have. If they haven’t, he thinks as he steals an imperial shuttle, after falsifying a crash and faking his own death, _I’ll just have to deliver them in person._

-

Jeff, for his part, gets a lot of fan messages, so the one from someone claiming to be a defected Imperial officer doesn’t arrest too much of his attention. Of course he reads them all, or, has his droid read them to him when he’s going to sleep, or in the refresher, or eating breakfast or sitting for a chest wax or whatever. But there are a lot of crazies in the galaxy, so the ex-Imperial sounds almost tame, almost sweet and normal. 

That’s before their tour ship is apprehended and boarded for a “routine inspection” by the Empire and his kriffing quetarrist (well, _one_ of them, how did their band get so big?) had some spice hidden away under his bunk. Now they’re just being held here. Jeff is going to kill Chaq. What do they need two quetarrists for? Chaq doesn't even play a real quetarra.

“It was just a _little_ spice,” Chaq explains, for the forty-seventh time. “Not even enough to make a big deal over! We’ve been stopped by the Empire plenty of times and never had it be an issue.”

“Chaq, that’s because you always dispose of the evidence by _eating_ it, man,” the drummer, Halfie Novex puts in, lounging dramatically on one of the holding cell’s two and a half cots. “Then we have to deal with your overlong keytar solos while you work the high off.”

“Hey, that’s art,” Chaq protests vehemently. “It’s _art_ , what do you even know about it, you just bang on things all day.”

“I got _rhythm_ and _tempo_ , Chaq,” Halfie argues back. “Anyway, Jeff, what are we gonna do about all this?”

From the far side of the cell the bassist sits up suddenly. “Hey, Starship, don’t you have a buddy in the Empire all of a sudden? You know, run-away-together, the guy who signs all his letters ‘Big Helmet’?”

"I don't...think he's in the Empire, anymore," Jefferson attempted, because that was more true than 'He's not my boyfriend.' Though, they certainly weren't boyfriends, either. But Jefferson definitely knew who Kaukonen was talking about. He just remembered the fan mail from the guy with the big mustache. Big Helmet, Big Moustache...Jeff definitely wondered what other parts of him were…big...

Jefferson shook his head. "Same old banthashit. We'll pay a fine. We might have to play a gig for the troops and then be fined again for playing licentious music before we're kicked on our way."

“Well then _what_ is taking so long?” Halfie demands, sprawling more forcefully with the effort of demonstrating how terrible all of life is, and how much he suffers for their art.

“Bureaucracy, man,” Chaq says. “Hey, d’you think they’ll let me keep my spice after they fine us for it? That’s like payin’ for it isn’t it?”

The rest of the band groans tiredly. 

“We’ll be lucky if they even let us keep our tour ship,” Halfie sighs. “Man, all our _lights_ and stage equipment. The roadie droids!”

 _Not the droids_! Jeff thinks but doesn’t say, but it makes him stand up in agitation. It wasn’t the droids’ fault, and the Empire could always mine their data and possibly reprogram them and—

“Look, can we see someone?” Jeff calls at the door, banging on it. “We’ve got a gig to get to in three parsecs—” 

An Imperial officer suddenly stands at the door, making Jeff jump back. Big black helmet and all, but not _his_ Big Helmet, probably. She’s a woman, for one thing, hugely tall and imposing. She doesn’t look at all like she’s impressed by psychedelic rock. 

“Look, ma’am, there’s been a big misunderstanding,” Jeff says. “You contact our agent, she’ll pay you anything you want. My quetarrist is an idiot, we’ll pay the fine. You know how the Hutts get when their acts don’t show up on time, and no one wants any unrest from the Hutts.” 

Jefferson didn’t like the Empire, but he was good at speaking to what they craved: order, subjugation, and no unrest whatsoever. Oh, and money. “We’ve got twelve thousand credits now, and you can confiscate any contraband. Hell, confiscate Chaq for all I care—” 

“Hey!” 

“—Not that I know what you’d do with a guy whose skill set is twelve minute quetarra solos and getting his bandmates into trouble. Or you can just call Jabba the Hutt and tell him we’ll be running late…?” 

She lets him finish with a stony expression on her features, her face giving not so much as a sympathetic twitch. “We are inspecting your cargo of course. You know that there are increased penalties for possession of contraband in lockdown systems.”

The officer lets that hang for a long time so they can consider it, and puts her hands on her hips. “I also have received a missive about music popular with the insurrectionists on Kashyyyk and your name is on the list. That means pending a trial in Imperial court you are to remain in detention.”

“What, a _trial?_ For what?” Kaukonen gets to his feet, like he’s ready to fight his way out. “That’s ridiculous, we just make music. We can’t help it that we’re popular with—”

“Not helping,” Halfie hisses at him.

“The Empire has found your message and style of psychedelic rock to be subversive,” the imperial officer confirms. “Your ship will be impounded as evidence.”

"Hey, wait, what? Let me talk to your superior officer!" Jefferson says, becoming heated. "This is ridiculous. You do something like that to someone like us and you really will have a rebellion on your hands, la—"

Jeff isn't able to finish as the woman backhands him soundly, sending him sprawling back into the chair with his bandmates. But he gets up again immediately. "You have no right! This is unlawful! You'll regret this!"

“We _are_ the law,” the Imperial says coldly, grinning at him with satisfaction that says she’s wanted to say that line for a long time. “You’d better get used to it.”

With that she leaves them to stew on what she feels is an incredibly witty one-liner, going to report to her commanding officer that she’s apprehended the subversives.

-

Big Helmet has no trouble tracking down the tour dates for the band’s appearances but he discovers, quickly, that they’re not on time for their appearance on Tatooine. He is almost glad, remembering the Empire’s morale inspiring videos about how bad things were there. He does discover there’s lots of sand and other unpleasantness on the planet, but it doesn’t take BH long to figure out that if Starship isn’t here, it will be much harder to find them.

He pays out most of his savings of Imperial Credits, which he’d intended to use to get tickets to the show at some place called Jabba’s Palace, before he gets an answer.

“I hear those guys were intercepted by an Imperial Cruiser,” A green-skinned Rodian named Neesh informs him, when he asks at the local watering hole. His Huttese is accented and hard for Big Helmet to understand without thinking about it extensively, but at least he seems to understand Basic. 

“Intercepted?” Big Helmet repeats, feeling stupid the instant he does it. “Why?”

“Who knows, those imperials…” Neesh stops to look Big Helmet over, top to bottom, antennae twitching dismissively. “They like to stop everybody and shake them down these days. Still, you ask me, that’s the _least_ of their problems. Jabba doesn’t like it when people don’t show up for his shows!”

Big Helmet swallows his concern and tries to slouch a little more convincingly, hoping the Rodian can’t guess that he’s an ex-Imperial himself, now. (And thinking of it like that is more than a little terrifying!) “Do you know what cruiser stopped them?”

“Who knows? Some Star Destroyer or other. The _Deatherizer_? _Deadliest Game_? Something like that.” Neesh laughs, and then grows ponderous. “Look, you don’t know another band in town, do you? Might be an opportunity there...” 

“No, I’m afraid not,” Big Helmet says, already heading for the door to get out of the cantina again, heading back to the spaceport before they can impound his shuttle. He’s got to hurry and get to wherever they’re keeping Jefferson Starship, it could be his only chance.

-

“What are we gonna do about this, Jeff?” Chaq demands, when they’re alone again. “A _trial?_ We might as well be signed up for the execution squad already!”

“Hang on, I’m thinking,” Jeff hisses, rubbing his head until he remembers he’d been struck. _Him_!! Jefferson Starship, the lead man of _Jefferson Starship_!!

He wasn’t good at plans. All he had was writing songs, singing songs, being charming in front of large groups of people. And a passing knowledge of computer engineering from his postdoctoral stint at the Imperial Academy, but none of those were helpful here. 

_Oh, wait._

“Okay, if I can sing at the right pitch, we can short out the locking mechanism for the door,” Jefferson says quietly, gathering his band around. “And then if we can steal some uniforms and get me to a computer terminal, I can forge us some passes, shut down the tractor beam, and get us to our ship. There’s just one problem.” 

“Just one?” Halfie says, sounding unimpressed. 

“I need to start off at the right pitch. No room for error.” 

“For the record, this is the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard,” Kaukonen says. “You’re gonna sing our way out?”

“Back up and let the man get his pitch,” Halfie shrugs. “I mean, I’m willing to try it. You know he’s got perfect pitch.”

“Hey, yeah,” Chaq pitches in. “The voice that seduced the whole galaxy. You got this, man. Now get us out of here before they come kill us!”

“And if you don’t, I’ll kick you in the nuts!” Kaukonen supplies, helpfully. 

“Actually, that might help…” 

“Don’t make this weird.” 

“Okay, okay! Okay.” Jefferson hums a few bars, working his way up quietly. Of course he never had the same range when he was singing quietly, so it wasn’t doing much more than psyching himself up. “Okay. Get ready to move. Computer terminal. We’ll need to find the ship and—”

“Yeah, we got it, you nerd. Leave that to us.” 

Jefferson takes a deep breath, and sings like his life depends on it. 

-

“There’s a problem in the holding area,” one of the Imperials calls up to the officer standing on the bridge. 

“What?”

“There’s been a malfunction in the holding area doors!”

“What _kind_ of malfunction? Get some guards down there.”

“We can’t, there’s been a security override!”

The officer grinds her teeth. “Details.”

“A shuttle just landed in the bay and began overriding our security measures! It’s opening a path to the holding area and locking us out!”

“What! Get our men into that shuttle bay immediately!”

-

"Oh, that's interesting," Jeff says, fingers flying across the keypad. "Very interesting."

"What's interesting is you shutting the entire _block_ off, Jeff! Now we're out here with real criminals!" Halfie complains, slipping into an Imperial uniform.

"After all that, you really think that anyone in an Imperial cell is _actually_ a criminal?" Chaq retorts. He's putting on a stormtrooper helmet.

"Okay, cut the chatter," Jeff says, looking up to realize he's the only one without a disguise. "Well, there's a lot of commotion in Hangar 94. Also where our tour ship is impounded."

“Well, you know what that means,” Kaukonen says, holding up a pair of imperial binders. “Time for plan B.”

“That’s my favorite plan,” Chaq says, his grin audible in his voice even filtered through the stormtrooper helmet. He squares himself up and holds up his stolen blaster, waving it impressively at Jeff. “Alright prisoner, march!”

“Ugh, you guys are _obnoxious_ ,” Jefferson says with disdain, though he can’t help but blush slightly, weirdly, at the humiliation. “Let me at least forge some orders for you…” 

He turns to Kaukonen, then frowns at him, seeing that Halfie is wearing the officer’s uniform and is less of an asshole, and hands Halfie the datapad with orders on it. “I’m a dangerous subversive and you’re moving me to a more secure location. Got it?” 

Jeff takes the binders and slaps them on his own wrists. 

Halfie takes the pad and looks it over. “Well I mean that’s basically what we’re doing in reality anyway, right?”

“Yeah, man, only it’s just more secure for _us_ ,” Chaq says, and he gives Jeff a nudge to go first. “Hey, you said something was goin’ on in the Hangar? What is it, d’you think?”

“Shush!” Halfie barks, doing his best impression of an imperial. “Cut the chatter and just get to the hangar.”

“Jeez,” Chaq groans, but he does his best to march convincingly. 

Halfie is one of those nice mid-rim boys who seems a little timid in most social situations, so he wasn’t the best choice, upon reflection, to play the officer, but it’s definitely too late now. He nearly fumbles a few times on the way to the hangar, saying “Excuse me,” or “Could you possibly direct us to,” enough times to make his peers cringe. But then Chaq is a bit too dumb to bluff properly, either, and Kaukonen is _too_ much of a brute to pass for an Imperial, so they stall out at the door to the hangar when Kaukonen actually seems like he’s going to try to _fight_ the deck officer in charge here. 

“ _What_ is the hold up?” an authoritative voice booms across the hangar, from one of the parked imperial shuttles. “Send the prisoner and his escort through!”

“Oh, uh,” the deck officer peers around seeing the new officer on the shuttle’s gangway. “Sir! I was just…”

“ _Just_ wasting my time. You there, get them on board and get that tour ship ready for tractoring,” their mysterious benefactor says, looking particularly impressive in his huge helmet, hands on his hips in his perfectly pressed Imperial uniform. 

“What do we do?” Halfie whispers to Jeff.

Then the new Imperial looks right at him and _winks_. 

Jefferson doesn't know what to do with an Imperial winking at him. Never mind that he's a rather handsome Imperial, and the binders he's wearing take on a new meaning. 

But he's not stupid. An Imperial? Helping them? A subversive…

 _Oh_. 

So the music is working. 

"Jeff?" Halfie whines. 

"You can't hold me!" Jefferson says, glaring at the officer imperiously, though his own eye twitches in a wink. "No one, man or computer, can resist my singing!"

"It's true, sir. He shorted out the holding cell with a high C!"

“Impressive,” the Imperial officer says, leaving the deck officer confused and scrambling to try and figure out what is even going on. “Then I suppose you’ll be hard to contain, Starship. But if you do it here, your own ship will be destroyed. Load him.”

“ _Jeff_ ,” Halfie repeats, one hand on his blaster like he’s getting ready to shoot their way out. 

"I think it's okay," Jeff says. He hopes it's okay, anyway.

They board the ship as instructed, though, and as the door shuts behind them, Jefferson tosses the binders down and rounds on the Imperial officer. The officer appears to be taller than him, but Jefferson always had a scrappy way of intimidation. "Look, I'm getting my people out of here, so if that wasn't a bluff back there you can just—"

“Relax! This is a rescue,” the Imperial says, quickly. He takes off his own (remarkably large) helmet and tosses it aside. “Now help me get the tractor beam set up so we can tow your ship out of here before they realize I haven’t been an Imperial for several months!”

“What?” Halfie asks, utterly lost.

“Don’t ask questions right now, man, just help out!” Chaq throws his stormtrooper helmet on the ground and runs his hand through his hair until it sticks out everywhere, “We gotta show to get to!”

“Oh, my god, _Jabba_ ,” Jeff says, turning green as he slides into the navigator’s chair. They’re going to be late if they don’t jump to hyperspace _now_. He’s surprised when he glances to his left and sees the Imperial officer. 

“Hey. Where’s my pilot?” Jeff asks, but he manages to say it with some interest and a bit of a grin that he’s frankly ashamed of himself for.

“I’m your pilot,” the Imperial says. “Uh, my name’s Big Helmet.”

“Your name is _Big Helmet?_ ” Chaq demands, and then begins laughing. “Hey! Starship! It’s your boyfriend.”

“Big Helmet??” Jefferson yelps before he can stop himself. “The fan letters?”

BH blushes deeply, and locks his eyes back onto the screen, giving an embarrassed cough. “Let’s focus on getting out of here for now, we can work the rest out later…”

Jefferson draws his focus away to calculate the jump to light speed. They make it out of the hangar, and Chaq finishes taking his disguise off, lamenting the whole time that he’s lost his whole stash to the fiasco while the rest of the band rolls their eyes. 

“Like you don’t have six more on the tour ship somewhere.” Halfie finds someplace to lounge in the back of the shuttle dramatically.

"Are the droids okay, at least?" Jeff calls back. "We need them for our Jabba gig!" 

"I'm reading droid signatures from out ship, so I hope so!" 

“Uh, anyway, maybe we shouldn’t go to Tatooine if the Empire knows you’re going to be there,” BH suggests, carefully.

“No way!” Halfie calls. “If we stand Jabba up, it’s much much worse than if we get caught by the Imperials.”

“Agreed,” Jefferson says. “And get on the damned guns! They’re gonna start shooting at us once they realize we’re not caught in _their_ tractor beam.” 

He turns a grim look on...BH? He had to get the poor guy a new name! “How _good_ a pilot are you?” 

“I passed flight school,” Helmet answers. “But we should probably get to hyperspace as fast as possible.” 

Kaukonen is getting the guns warmed up and ready to fire, just as the shuttle begins to rock with cannon fire. 

“We’d be a lot faster if we weren’t towing your tour ship,” Big Helmet suggests, as he tries to pick up the pace.

“No way man, our instruments are in there,” Chaq calls, from one of the guns.

“ _And_ Chaq's stash,” Halfie teases. 

“Please, B.H.,” Jefferson says, and finds himself putting a hand on Big Helmet’s arm. 

He hits a few more calculations and breathes out. “Okay, jump!” 

Together, they each grab a lever and slide them forward, their fingers brushing as they make the jump. Outside, the stars blur and launch them into hyperspace. It’s not a smooth ride, but their ship is still connected. The band cheers from the back of the shuttle. 

In all the excitement, Big Helmet grabs Jeff’s hand and squeezes it, thrilled to be free. “So I…went to Tatooine to see your show, and found out you’d been nabbed. I knew I had to rescue you…”

“We’re grateful!” Halfie calls, still lounging.

“I think it’s so important your message gets out there,” BH continues. “You helped me so much and, uh, I felt things I’ve never felt before…”

Chaq heads toward the front of the shuttle, but Jefferson hits a button that seals the cockpit off from the rest of the ship, keeping him and B.H. alone. He leans in, licking his lips. “Things? Like...subversive things?” 

_“Hey! Let me in!”_ they hear from outside.

 _“Look, man, maybe you don’t_ want _in,”_ Halfie explains. 

Chaq crosses his arms over his chest and winds up for a sulk, but then he tries to peek in through the view window.

 _“Alright, okay, c’mon,”_ Halfie finally gets up and gets his arm around Chaq's neck to drag him away. _“Give ‘em some privacy man.”_

_“But who’s flyin’ this thing if they’re in there makin’ out, man!”_

“I knew from the first moment I saw you performing, I was…subverted,” BH agrees. “I abandoned my post on Kashyyyk and came to find you.”

Jeff’s eyes grow big, but almost fond. The Imperial seems like a man who’s spent his entire life knowing exactly who he is and what he believes and has only just recently found himself shaken up. His brow and chin have faded frown lines, though he’s not frowning now.

“That sounds very brave,” he says finally, squeezing B.H.’s hands. “I always hope people will be affected by our music, but I never thought…”

Big Helmet is also _handsome_ , since the frown lines on his chin and brow are fading away. “I remember your comms. They really call you Big Helmet?” 

“It’s… well it’s really the only name they gave me. I have a _designation_ but that’s not really the same thing and it’s just a bunch of numbers,” BH offers, nervously. “Your name is really Jefferson Starship, right?”

“It is, believe it or not,” Jeff says, waving his hand. “My parents were from Mandalore—but, you know, the hippie pacifist faction. Big Helmet, huh? What are we gonna do with that? We can’t very well call you ‘Big Helmet’...Maybe just ‘Helmet’? That sounds pretty metal, actually.” 

“Metal?” BH asks, a little unsure what to make of that descriptor. “What kind of metal?”

He can see from Jefferson’s expression that the answer isn’t quite right, so he tries a smile and a shrug. “I wouldn’t mind Helmet. I’d know how to answer to it already.”

“Metal means, ah—well, never mind,” Jefferson says, actually finding himself flustered by how cute this guy is, and so...innocent? In weird ways? Nothing was innocent about being a tool of the Empire, but maybe this guy managed it. “Helmet. I think that suits you. With or without an actual helmet.” 

He glances around, though, attempting to flirt (but, do they even know how to flirt in the Empire?), “You don’t still have the helmet, do you? I thought it was kind of sexy. You know, in a freaky sort of way. Good freaky, like, what a freak.” 

“Well, I think it’s still on the ship, yes…” Helmet says, realizing he’d taken it off sometime during the rescue. He gives a nervous chuckle, shifting in his seat before he reaches for Jefferson’s hand again. “So I have been listening to a lot of interstellar rock since I got out of the Empire, and it’s really wonderful. You’re only supposed to listen to the stuff they’ve vetted and they have a big list, and none of it’s any good. Uh, I mean to say, I know a little bit about what you mean when you say freaky.”

Jefferson watches Helmet take his hand back, open glee on his face. "Oh, _have_ you, now? Listening to my rivals, huh? I'm just teasing, there's a lot of great stuff out there." 

With a shrug, Jefferson decides to go for it: he gets up and slides in front of Helmet, resting his ass on the control panel and positioning his body very close to Helmet and slightly above him. A good vantage point for flirting. "Tell me what you learned that turned you into a subversive and made you want to leave the Empire?"

(Jefferson isn't going to sleep with a fascist, after all. He has standards.) 

Briefly, Helmet’s brain short circuits as he realizes how close they are, and how much he likes it, and how much different (more intense) it is to be sitting right near _the_ Jefferson starship in his tight pants and even if he’d been captive for a little while and his hairstyle has melted just a little, it’s still something to see. 

“Uh, well,” Helmet starts, gruffly, and then clears his throat and tries to make a better start of things. “I mean, I was watching you perform and I thought that the Empire didn’t know what it was talking about, that they shouldn’t ban something so good…or try to keep out music and beauty and light and then I realized that was all they were about, was keeping all that shut down. Of course they labeled you guys subversive, they knew that if anybody saw how gorgeous you were and heard how good the music was, they were going to change sides immediately!”

Jefferson huffs softly, widening his stance a little, opening up. “Music, beauty, and light. Yeah, that sounds about right. What was the song? Winds of Change? Runaway? Light the Sky on Fire?” 

“Well, the last one first, but then I listened to everything I could get my hands on,” Helmet explains, brightening with enthusiasm. “You’re really big on Kashyyyk, right? So people trade albums to hear it all.”

Jeff reaches down to take Helmet’s hands. They’re soft, pretty, but not unmanly: well-kempt from being well-kept. “It feels good to know our message is being heard.” He cups Helmet’s cheek next. “I’m glad _you_ heard it.” 

Helmet leans forward, pulled in by Jefferson’s eyes like tractor beams, and finds that Jefferson is leaning toward him as well, and halfway between starting to lean and the kiss really happening, he starts to panic, worry flooding over him until suddenly their mouths meet, soft and chaste at first, and sweet in a way he hadn’t expected. 

Helmet kisses him sweet and shy, and Jefferson starts slow, in kind, before pressing forward and putting his tongue into it. He strokes Helmet's sideburns and hums, licking across his lips as they part. "I think you'll make a very good subversive."

“I learned from the best,” Helmet says, grinning stupidly, and then he tugs Jefferson into his lap, off the console for another kiss, a little longer and slower now that he’s getting the idea of how it’s supposed to go. “And I can think of a few other things I’d like to learn, too, if we have time while we’re in hyperspace…”

"Whatever we have, it's enough," Jefferson answers.


End file.
